


we are every one of us sinners

by destieltrash (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Season 2, angst is a good idea right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/destieltrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has to live without the dead, but murderers have to live with themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm meaner than my demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from halsey's control

Clarke walks until she can walk no longer.

Then she sets up camp, builds a fire, kills a rabbit, eats, and sleeps.

She does it again the next day.

And the next.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Clarke misses soap.

The thought floats up to the surface on the fourth day, and it's so ridiculous that Clarke has to burst into laughter. 

She has thought of nothing since she left.

Fucking soap.

Clarke keeps walking.

 

It's on the seventh day that she encounters Lexa.

Lexa and her guard are on horses, thundering through the woods. Clarke doesn't bother asking why. She doesn't care.

Apparently Lexa does. The bitch gets off her horse.

Clarke keeps walking. She has nothing to say to Lexa.

Lexa says something that Clarke remembers makes the guard leave. So they do.

"You are a long way from your camp," Lexa says. Her voice is measured. Her eyes are guarded. Her war paint is on.

"How'd you figure that out?" Clarke deadpans.

"How did you get your people out of the mountain?"

"I killed the Mountain Men," Clarke says dully. "All of them. The kids. The civilians." Clarke gives Lexa a smile that's hideous in its loathing.

Lexa pauses. "You did-"

Clarke holds up a hand. She regards Lexa with hatred. "Don't tell me I did what a leader has to do. Don't tell me I saved my people. Don't tell me that. I already know."

Lexa is quiet.

"This is your fault," Clarke snarls. "If you hadn't betrayed us I wouldn't have had to kill all those people. We would've won, Lexa."

"Do not blame me for your actions," Lexa replies. Clarke wants to kill her.

"I was good before Earth!" Clarke shouts. "I was good before this war!" Her fists are clenched. She's shaking. Her eyes are wide. She does not realize that she looks weak.

"No," Lexa says, shaking her head. "There is no good or bad. There is only my people and yours. To remember that would take the burden off of you."

And Lexa is gone, and Clarke is alone again.

 

It's on the twentieth day that Clarke begins to talk to herself.

She's not crazy. She doesn't hear voices. She just wishes she did.

Accurately, she talks to Bellamy.

Bellamy has Octavia.

Clarke has nobody. She let Bellamy go.

She was right to do that, she tells herself. She would only stop Bellamy from healing, she tells herself.

But still, it's only the memory of Bellamy's arms solid and warm around her that convince her it's worth it to keep walking.

The guilt was the reason for leaving, but Bellamy is her reason for staying gone.

 

On the twenty fifth day, Clarke realizes she was wrong.

Her people do not her of her crimes. Her people are her reason for her crimes.

And without being reminded of her reason, Clarke forgets it.

She remembers only her victims.

She lives only with her ghosts.


	2. i was sinking and now i'm sunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from florence and the machine's swimming

Bellamy needs Clarke.

It's not a physical need or a romantic need. Bellamy really has no idea what to call it.

But Monty refuses to be anywhere near him, Jasper refuses to be anywhere near either of them, and Raven refuses to be around anything but her work.

Octavia is, well, not experienced in the realm of mass murder.

So yes, Bellamy needs Clarke.

 

Bellamy drinks until he's drunk, and then some. It's a familiar feeling, being drunk too often.

After his mother was floated, after Octavia was locked up, after the three hundred deaths on the Ark.

Just like then, Bellamy hides it fantastically.

He's spent many long years hiding rage and misery, it's no problem to hide a bottle.

Or, well, several bottles.

 

Clarke has Bellamy's forgiveness. Bellamy has no absolution. He doesn't even know if absolution is what he needs. He wants something, though, something that gets the weight off his chest.

He also might like hangover medicine, but he supposes alcohol could distract from that too.

 

Bellamy considers fucking someone.

Physical comfort from a warm body. It's not like it would be terribly difficult.

He thinks about it lying in bed, a bottle of disgustingly potent moonshine sitting half full on the floor. 

He decides against it.

He deserves to be alone.

 

Bellamy is eating breakfast when Octavia plops down beside him, braids, sword, and all.

"You smell like moonshine," she informs him.

"Yeah? Jasper won't talk to me," Bellamy says, smiling wryly.

"Oh, don't give me that. There's more than a hundred people here, someone can make booze."

Bellamy doesn't really know what to say to that, and the bright morning sun is aggravating his headache.

"I'm not going to let you self destruct," Octavia says, gentler. "Not after all the trouble I went to getting you out of that mountain," she adds, nudging him. "Come on, Bell."

She waits for him to promise he'll be okay, call her O, kiss her forehead, tug her braids. He knows that's what she's waiting for.

And God, if he wasn't so tired, he would. 

He stands up and walks away.

Bellamy loves his sister enough to kill 350 people for her, but he doesn't love her enough to save himself.


End file.
